


Emma Enchanted

by Ims0s0rry



Category: Ella Enchanted - Gail Carson Levine, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Attempt at Humor, F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Masquerade Ball, Mutual Pining, Robin Hood Bashing, Roommates, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-19 19:04:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8221600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ims0s0rry/pseuds/Ims0s0rry
Summary: Based off the book because as much as I love Hugh Dancy, the movie didn't hold a candle to the original.Emma's cursed by the mysterious Truest Believer to be obedient forevermore. Join her as she tries to lift the enchantment with the help of Gold, the sassy family cook; while dodging the machinations of her terrible family; and fighting her step brother, Robin, (it's not much of a match-up lol) for the affections of Princess Regina along the way.Including but not limited to: Gold and Henry as Emma's feuding fairy godfathers, a smidgen of Captain Charming, and Robin getting bitchslapped because why not?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing, please don't sue me, machine wash cold, etc.
> 
> All mistakes are mine and the story's really rough because I don't currently have a beta. Feel free to point out typos or odd changes in narrative voice or anything that doesn't make sense in general.

Emma doesn't remember being cursed, having been a newborn and all, but she's heard the story recounted so many times by Gold and her mother that she can almost imagine it perfectly. Her mother, holding a small squalling bundle, her face red from exertion and hair plastered back with sweat. Gold yelling and gesturing wildly in his ever present flowery apron. The only person she can't picture is the fairy that cursed her, The Truest Believer. She was upset with Emma’s screaming so she gifted her with obedience and then sweetly told her to shut up. And Emma stopped crying.

The first time she realizes she’s cursed is at her fourth birthday party. Gold slices into a decadent chocolate cake he’s spent all day working on. He serves her a piece and simply says, “Eat.” The first she enjoys. Gold gives her another.

When her mother sees her struggling to swallow, she frowns. “Emma?”

“It’s her birthday. Let her stuff herself,” Gold says, chuckling.

She starts to bawl halfway through the third piece. Why can’t she stop herself? Her mother realizes what’s going on first and shouts, “Stop eating, Emma!”

She’s seven and playing with the butler’s daughter one day when she brags that she’s cursed. Emma enjoys the way the other girl’s eyes widen as she elaborates on the specifics. But she realizes this might’ve not been a good idea when the girl says, “So I could tell you to kiss my shoe and you’d have to do it?”

“Why don’t we do something else? I’ll race you to the creek.”

“Alright, but I command you to lose.”

And so it goes. All afternoon, she has to bow to the wishes of the girl. Whether they race or play marbles or thumb wrestle, she is forced to cede. Eventually, Emma is so fed up that she punches the girl, breaking her nose.

Her mother's face is pinched when she finds accommodations for the butler and his daughter someplace else. She pulls Emma aside and tells her to swear that she will never tell another soul about her curse. Even if she hadn't promised her mother, Emma knows better now. She's learned caution.

It’s one of the few times that she can remember her mother being stern with her. Her mother lets her have free reign of her wardrobe, helping Emma slip on her long, dangly earrings and kissing her bruises when she falls from wearing heels five sizes too big for her. They play pranks on Gold, like sprinkling a tiny bit of paprika in the potatoes before they’re served. He’s sure to taste them one last time before they’re done, and he _hates_ paprika. Her mother teaches her how to slide down the bannister, ignoring the servants’ indignant cries of “My lady!” It’s the only way Emma goes downstairs for the longest time.

Near the tail end of one winter, both Emma and her mother fall ill. Gold makes his special chimera tail broth, which looks ghastly but tastes alright and usually nips most ailments in the bud. He watches hawkishly as Emma slurps sullenly from her bowl. Her mother says that she'll wait until hers cools down. When Gold leaves, she takes out the tail and downs the concoction, winking at Emma and placing the tail back in the empty bowl.

Within the next week, Emma's up and about but her mother's only gotten worse. She's shooed out of her bedroom and out of the house, as her father complains about her getting underfoot whenever he decides to return home for a few days. She wanders over to the old castle grounds, where the graveyard is now, and rummages in her skirts for a coin for the old wishing well. _If Mama gets well quickly, I promise to be a good girl. I won't resist the curse and I won't complain about it as much._ The coin makes a promising little splash as she flicks it into the dark water far below.

Her mother is dead within the fortnight. Her father scrambles from one place to another, trying to get arrangements under way for the funeral. All the servants bustle about in an all-white ensemble, as is customary for mourning. Emma spends most of her time lying in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Luckily, Gold barks at her to help him in the kitchen before she can properly drown herself in her grief. Usually he'd boss her around and she'd try her best to wriggle around the curse but today he lets her sit at the counter and mope.

"Here, eat up." He slides a bowl of pasta down the counter.

"I'm not hungry," she mumbles. But the curse is pushing her to obey, so she picks up the fork and pushes the noodles around absentmindedly.

"Eat anyway."

"I will if you tell me why she died."

Gold frowns for a long moment before he sighs and says, "I suppose it's time you learned anyway."

For the first time in weeks, Emma perks up. "Is it a secret?"

"I guess so. I have what you could call...small magic."

"You're a fairy!"

"Aye."

"So you can un-curse me?"

"Dearie, I would if I could, but only the fairy that cast the enchantment can undo it."

"Oh. But you can bring Mama back then?"

"I only do small magic, the soup, your tonic, things that won't interfere with fate. The fairies that mess with big magic are complete duncebuckets because they couldn't care less about the consequences. And even with big magic, there are three hard and fast rules. You can’t make someone fall in love with you, you can’t change the past, and you can’t bring back the dead.” He scowls and then mumbles, “Except for that wanking pirate prettyboy in season five because why the hell not?”

“What’d you say?”

“So every year, an acting troupe comes around to the city and does a new installment of this serial. The first few years were okay, but recently it’s just been getting worse and worse. The plot’s all over the place, the characterization is off, and they get magic completely wrong. And there’s this one character who seems to get all the lucky breaks even though he’s clearly mediocre.”

“So...why don’t you stop watching?”

“I can’t! I’ve grown too attached to the characters!”

“That sounds distressing, but if that’s what you enjoy, I don’t judge.” Emma pauses to chew in contemplation. "But if you're a fairy, why are you here cooking? Couldn't you go wherever you wanted, do whatever you wanted to?"

Gold turns his back on her as he flips the loaves in the oven. "Yes and no. My situation is complicated. I had...a son very long ago. And I made the mistake of letting him go. It took me very many years to track him down to this land. And when I first got here, I had nothing but the clothes on my back. I had no job, nowhere to stay. I promised Lady Abigail I'd make sure you got your happy ending in return for room and board while I find him."

"Is he in the city?"

"I don't know. I think he's working in the castle, but I'm not sure."

"That's really close by! You could work for the castle kitchens and find him that way!"

"I admire your enthusiasm, but it's all just guesswork. And I can't just abandon you. I made a promise. I don't break those. Not anymore, anyway."

"But your son, what if he leaves?"

Gold shrugs. "I think he's happy here. I don't think he'll leave anytime soon. But don't you worry, that doesn't mean I'm just idling my time away. I've got a contact at the castle."

Emma mulls this over as she shovels the pasta into her mouth.

"Good, you're done. Wash the dishes quickly and then change into your dress. You're supposed to be at the burial in an hour."

It's one of the warmer days, but blustery, and the minister drones on and on about her mother's devotion to the royal family, the nobility, and her own family. Emma shuffles from foot to foot, trying hard not to snort. This grim, proper lady being described hardly sounds like her mother. She thinks that her mother would've wanted dancing at her funeral but she isn't sure. It's too late to ask.

That thought makes her feel like she's been punched. All of a sudden she can't breathe for the sobs clawing their way into the open air. The crowd shifts and murmurs uneasily. The priest continues on in his monotone. Her father grips her close, not to offer comfort but rather to hiss "get a hold of yourself or find somewhere else to wail until you can compose yourself".

She turns without hesitation, fleeing to the wishing well. There's a majestic willow tree close by and she throws herself at the base, sobbing herself sore, somewhat hidden by the swaying, drooping branches.

A good hour later, she staggers out from under the willow's branches, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her dress. There's another girl standing before a gravestone, her back to her. But upon hearing the rustle, she turns to face her. Emma freezes, keenly aware of the string of snot hanging from one nostril, and sinks into a quick curtsy.

"Your royal highness," she says, her voice hoarse from crying.

"Regina," she replies.

Emma bows her head and curtsies again. "Your royal highness, Regina."

"No, I mean just Regina."

She looks up. "Regina?"

The other girl grins. "There you go. I was worried that you might be dense."

"Really, you don't need to worry about me. My intelligence is well within the normal bounds."

"That remains to be determined, Miss Nolan."

"To what do I owe the pleasure, your—Regina?"

"Everyone else left after the last rites. I figured you should know that they're gathering for the reception back at the house."

Emma sighs. "Thanks, but I'd rather not deal with any more people pretending to care about my mother."

The princess scuffs at the dirt. "If it makes any difference," she says to the ground, "I thought your mom was a wonderful person. I didn't know her well, but she was honest. Very funny. Humble. Refreshing to see after years of nobles falling over themselves to gain favor."

"Oh. I—thank you. That's the kindest thing anyone's said about her all day."

There's a bit of an awkward pause as Emma tries to figure out what to do with her hands. She's itching to wipe the rest of the snot off her face but she doesn't think she can be discreet enough about it, especially in front of royalty. Eventually Regina saves her by nodding towards the house and a little "shall we?" She doesn't want to head back yet; she's still furious with her father, but it's getting dark out and there are tales of wraiths haunting the grounds. She supposes she should go home before she gets her soul sucked out.

As they walk along the path back to the house, passing townspeople take a moment to bow to Regina. She nods in response, but Emma notices her expression is pained in the process.

"What's wrong? You can't stand people acknowledging your presence?" She's pleased to note that her voice isn't quite so raspy.

Regina frowns. "I—well, it's part of a larger problem, really. But I suppose so. I wish I could wander the city freely without having everyone stop and make such a spectacle out of it. Is that so much to ask?"

Emma can understand it, on one hand. "It must be nice being able to boss everyone around though."

"I don't want to boss everyone around! I just want..." She voice fades.

"Whatever you want, it shouldn't be a problem." To Emma, it sounds reasonable enough. Who would deny the heir apparent of a small kingdom anything?

Regina doesn't think so. She turns on her. "Of course you'd think that. What would you know?"

She blinks, bewildered. "Um, okay, ouch. I know math and stuff, you know, so that's something. But you're right, it must be _so_ unbearable having everyone wait on you hand and foot while you eat caviar-smeared foie gras, your majesty." She bows with a flourish.

"You're a boorish imbecile," she spits, sweeping away. "You know nothing."

"We established that isn't true!" Emma calls after her.

Despite the somber occasion, she feels marginally better. There's something about arguing with authority figures that lifts her spirits.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we establish that Snowing is the worst (sorry, I needed villains!) Also some implied Captain Charming because this fandom always needs more Captain Charming.

She's hoping to sneak in without her father noticing and sulk in her bedroom, but no such luck. As soon as she opens the door, her father snaps his fingers at her. "There you are, girl. Where have you been? Come greet Lady Snow and her delightful son, Robin."

Emma stomps over and grumbles some pleasantries. Fortunately, her father is too busy being fawned over by Lady Snow to notice. Robin isn't much better either.

"Your father's very rich," he says in lieu of a hello.

"...Thank you?"

He nods. "Not everyone can afford an entire roast boar for a reception." His eyes crawl over the tapestries and the filigreed accents.

"Right, well, thank you for paying your respects. I'm sure my mother would've very much appreciated it." More likely, she would've found a way to sneak a pie onto their chairs unnoticed, but it doesn't matter anymore now that she's dead. Not much does.

Instead of moping upstairs though, she steals back into the kitchen to visit Gold. "Father's horrible and the people are horrible and everything is horrible." She flops onto the counter like a dead fish.

"No disagreements there, dearie." He clucks his tongue in sympathy. "But get up and make yourself useful. Flip the roast before it burns while I prepare the glaze."

For once, she doesn't protest. She's too sad and emotionally exhausted to kick up a fuss.

They lapse into silence, broken only by the banging of pots and pans and a knife against a cutting board.

"Have they been starved for weeks? This roast was supposed to be tomorrow night's dinner," Gold finally grouches.

"I guessing only a third of the guests even knew her. The rest are here for the free food. Father introduced me to the rudest mother and son. She was draping herself all over him mere hours after Mama's funeral and the son looked like he would run off with the candlesticks if we so much as blinked."

"Funerals aren't for the dead. They're for the living."

"I know that Mama doesn't care, but I wish we could mourn her in our own way instead of throwing a party."

"I understand, dearie. We'll do something nice for her tonight, after we hide away some of her keepsakes."

She nods. Father was just waiting until everyone went home before he pawned all of Mom's valuables. They wouldn't be able to salvage much, but just one or two items would help her hold onto her memory.

That night, they sneak out to the graveyard, despite Emma's protests of wraiths.

"Oh hush," Gold says with a chuckle. "They're only an old wives' tale. Besides, they only pursue you if you're branded by their mark. We'll be fine."

"You seem to know a lot about them for being an old wives' tale."

"You pick up a lot of tidbits as a fairy," he replies airily.

She twines the pheasant feather from her mother's favorite hat into Gold's batch of honeysuckle and lays it at the base of the gravestone. They stand there in silence for a while. Eventually, Emma takes his hand and says quietly, "It seems stupid to talk out loud to her."

"Do whatever you feel you need to."

There's a long, still lull until she folds into him. "I miss her so much and I can't believe she's gone and it's all my fault and how will anything be okay ever again?" She sputters in between sobs.

"Oh dearie, no no no. It's my fault. I should've made sure she ate the soup without taking out the chimera tail."

Emma feels warm tears on the crown of her head. "Me too."

They hold each other until they run out of tears.

Despite Abigail's death, nothing really changes. Her father is always away on business trips and Emma spends her days with Gold, alternating between helping and being a nuisance. It's how she prefers it, really. Nothing good ever comes of her father noticing her.

...

One day, he sends Gold out to the market to get rare herbs as they're "having a guest tonight", which wouldn't be so much of an issue except that Emma also needs to be presentable at the dinner table. Gold scowls the entire time he's chopping up the herbs.

"What's wrong with them? Usually you're ecstatic when Father gives you permission to spend extra on spices."

"First of all, they're not spices. Spices are dried bits of roots and twigs. And secondly, I know what these are. I just can't remember what they do or what they're called."

"So you know basically nothing about them."

"And you know nothing at all!"

"That's becoming a regular theme."

He scoops the diced leaves onto the flat of his knife and slides them into the stew. "I don't have time for your vaguely worded statements."

"You're the second person to call me stupid in the past few weeks, that's all."

Gold waves the blade in the air threateningly. "Me, I can understand. Who was the other one?"

"You planning to stab them with that?" Emma smirks.

"Something like that," he growls. For such a slight man, it's amazing how much he resembles a bear in that moment.

"It was one of the princesses."

"Oh." He frowns. "I guess she can call you stupid too, but just because I can't stab her and get away with it."

"And that's the only reason?"

"Pretty much. Now stop blathering away and saute these peppers for me."

She screws up the side of her mouth, even as her curse tugs her towards obedience.

When he notices she hasn't moved, despite clenching her teeth and having broken out in a sweat, he sighs. "Please go saute the peppers."

Emma ducks under his arm and grabs a cutting board and the closest clean knife.

At a quarter to eight, Gold bumps her out of the way of searing the lamb. "Best leave the rest to me, dearie. Go get changed before the guest arrives and your father gets up to high doh."

She dons her most garish purple dress, the one her mother teasingly told her made her look like a little old lady. Just because her father ordered her to be present doesn't mean she's going to make it easy for him.

Their guest turns out to be one Killian Jones, a friend of her father's from his younger days. Apparently, he's docked in the port for the month while he irons out some details regarding his next shipments. She used to hear stories about him when she was younger whenever her father was home, before she reached her teenage years and suddenly her parents were raised by nuns.

"Hook, you handsome rascal, how are you?" her father roars, clapping the man on the back.

Emma raises her eyebrows. She can see where the nickname comes from. Although Mr. Jones is a reputable seafaring merchant, he looks more like a pirate of old, complete with the all-leather garb and the missing hand.

"Better now that you're here, Charming," Hook says, grinning widely.

"And you've met my daughter, Emma."

She bends her knees in a semblance of a curtsy.

"Years ago, it must've been. You've grown up into quite the fetching young lady." He winks as he kisses her hand.

She twists her mouth, unimpressed. "Pleased to see you again, Mr. Jones," she recites.

While they trade news and anecdotes of their time abroad, she enters the kitchen, where Gold is putting the finishing touches on dinner. "This is going to consist of them making eyes at each other all night while they ignore me, isn't it?"

"Most likely. Here, take these out to the dining room." Emma pauses. Gold gives her a look. "Unless you'd rather just sit there on your own while they bromance it up?"

She sighs. "Good point."

Surprisingly, dinner is not just about the two men. Her father actively engages her in conversation and talks her up, to her bemusement. Hook responds in kind, but his heart doesn't seem to be in it. As the courses roll out though, she starts to feel rather odd. Everything blurs around the edges and the whole situation seems lighter, funnier, more engaging. She finds herself laughing at her father's awkward jokes and even being charmed by Hook. Who knew chest hair could be so alluring?

As the evening closes to an end, her father breaks out some vintage wine and even pours her a glass. "To be honest, Hook, Emma seems quite taken with you."

She can't bring herself to question why she bats her eyes at him coquettishly.

Hook, on the other hand, starts to choke on his wine. "You can't be serious?" he sputters. "I'm more than twice her age!"

"I am," her father says. "Look, ever since Abigail died, I've had to take care of some debts I didn't have ready funds for. I'd be very grateful if you took Emma off of my hands."

Hook shakes his head. "Mate, that's messed up. Is this what this dinner was all about?"

Her father sighs. "Not entirely. I did miss you terribly."

Hook's smiles crookedly. "Me too."

"But you still won't consider it?"

"Hell no, no offense." He glances over to Emma, who's following the conversation, sort of. Her eyes keep drifting out of focus. "Why don't we go for a moonlit stroll to the Jolly Roger, yeah? We can relive the glory days without er, censoring ourselves."

Her father gives him a strange look, one that she's never seen before. It's exasperated and fond and a bit something else she can't name. He nods. "Off to bed with you then, Emma."

Her movements are sluggish and dream-like as she makes her way upstairs and collapses into bed. Her last conscious thought before she falls asleep is that they took the term bromance rather literally.

In the morning, her throat feels like sandpaper and her head spins every time she even thinks about moving. Gold bustles into her room mid-morning, incensed. "Your bloody lout of a father poisoned you!"

She groans and rolls over. "Don't shout, please. I feel like I'm dying."

"It's a miracle you haven't yet with the amount he dosed you with," he hisses, pulling the sheets around her.

"Gr-ugh?"

"Those herbs from last night were bothering me so I looked them up. They're reserpine, to make someone more pliable to suggestions in low doses. Here, lean this way so I can help you drink some water. Did he try to preposition you?"

She shrugs as water dribbles down her front. "Father was trying to get Hook to marry me. Get rid of me."

Gold squawks.

"It's alright, though. Hook was vehemently against it."

"At least one of them has common sense."

She squeezes her eyes shut tightly, trying to stop the room from tilting about wildly.

"You stay in bed till you feel better. Yell for me if you need more water or any help getting out of bed."

She nods into her pillow. "Thank you."

Gold pats her back before closing the door with a quiet click.

It's nearly nightfall before she feels well enough to go downstairs. Her father's in his office, writing up requests for his suppliers or something or other. But she notices he's still wearing the same clothes from last night, albeit rather rumpled, and he looks happier than Emma remembers in recent years.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are Rumple and Rumple is us.

Her mother’s hardly been buried for more than a year when her father calls her into his study one day. He’s behind his desk, editing the wording on some forms. She plops down into the armchair across from him. He takes off his glasses and clears his throat before he announces that he’s marrying Lady Snow. Emma doesn’t take the news well to say the least.

“You barely even know her! Do you even like her?” She jumps to her feet, her fists clenched.

Her father sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “That’s not the point. We’re already engaged. I figured you should be aware of the new development.”

“Well, thanks for consulting me on the newest addition of our family ahead of time. I would’ve preferred to know that you were dating again at all.”

“Emma, be reasonable. You’re not the one getting married.”

“Not that you haven’t tried! Besides, she’s going to be my stepmother. Don’t you care about me at all?”

“Stop being so immature! We owe a lot of debt and the loan sharks are starting to get aggressive. Lady Snow has many assets that will stave off the worst of them for a while yet while the markets recover. I’ve considered many options and this is the best from a business standpoint.”

“Of course it is,” she sneers. “That’s all you’ve ever cared about.”

He stands up abruptly. There’s a muscle twitching in his jaw and for a moment, she thinks he’s going to strike her. But he only says, “Go to your room” in a deadly soft voice.

She marches upstairs to her bedroom but then opens her window and shimmies down the yew tree and loops back to the stables. She spends all evening helping the groom re-shoe the horses and the lone donkey, skipping dinner altogether. It’s very late when Gold finally finds her, rubbing down the equines one last time before bed.

“He’s getting married again. To that dreadful Snow lady,” she says by way of greeting.

He leans on the gate and nods. “So I heard.”

“Why did Mama marry him in the first place if he’s so terrible?”

He pauses to gather his thoughts. Finally, he says slowly, “He was very sweet to Lady Abigail before they were married. Her parents were unhappy because he was a common merchant, and I think she loved him more because he was poor. It wasn’t until they were wed that he showed his true nature, the bastard.”

“I suppose there isn’t anything I can do to change his mind?”

Gold sighs. “No, I don’t think so. Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think?”

She snorts. “Ha, fat chance. But what about you? What news of that soap opera you’re following?”

His face contorts into a mask of pain.

“That bad, huh?”

...

Over the following weeks, she broods while florists, caterers, and clergy swirl through the household, getting everything ready for the big day. Snow and Robin are in the thick of the activity, ordering people about with obvious delight.

Emma tries to sneak by one day but is snagged by Snow into a bone-crushing hug. “Isn’t this exciting, Emma? We’ll be real family!”

“Fantastic,” mumbles Emma as best as she can with her face smushed into Snow’s shoulder.

Robin simply ignores her in favor of calculating the expenses and debating the pros and cons of venues with her father. She wants to slap him for sucking up to her father like a leech.

On the actual day, the whole ceremony is so overdone she thinks it might've triggered her allergies. Her father and Lady Snow exchange their sappy vows in the courtyard. They spout a lot of “true love” nonsense. Servants throw flower petals from above. She stands by Snow’s side in her hideous bridesmaid dress, scowling as the newlywed couple release doves into the cloudless sky. All the attendants cry into handkerchiefs as her father dips her new stepmother and kisses her. Emma rolls her eyes. As the crowd surges forward to share their congratulations, she’s debating if she can slip away in the ensuing confusion to avoid the crush when something extraordinary happens.

In a flash of blinding light, a small boy wrapped in a gray wool coat appears, forcing everyone back. "Did I hear that you kids just got married?"

"Er, yes. And you would be?" Her father smiles hesitantly.

"I'm Henry, the Truest Believer!"

Emma gasps. As stereotypical as it is, she was expecting someone older, pinker, and decidedly more female. Robin elbows her hard as he strains to hear what the fairy says next.

"—here to give you something special for your happy day!"

Behind her, she distinctly hears Gold mutter, “Hoe don’t do it.”

"Oh, Sir David! How romantic!" Snow squeals, throwing her arms around him.

"Yes...thank you for your kindness." Her father’s smile is decidedly more forced now. Doubtless he’s heard tales of trouble from the famed “Truest Believer”.

The fairy smiles beatifically. "And my gift to you is that you'll be absolutely besotted fools for each other forever! Enjoy, you lovebirds!"

“OH MY GOD!” Gold throws his hands in the air.

"Wait!" Emma reaches out to grab his scarf, but he poofs into thin air, leaving glitter and the scent of freshly baked chocolate donuts.

Her father's and Snow's initial expressions of horror melt away, replaced with pure joy. "My only snuggle muffin," her father murmurs, picking her stepmother up and twirling her around. They proceed to nuzzle noses for the next five minutes.

Gold, in his best apron, looks like he's just smelled something foul. "Better get the newlyweds home," he says, shoving the happy couple in question and Emma and Robin toward the carriage. Snow forgets her father for a moment to throw her bouquet out the window. It hits Gold square in the face.

As the carriage trundles along the roads, Snow asks, "And if I may, my kissy wissy potato, how rich are we?"

There’s a long silence. “Why don’t we talk about the honeymoon instead?”

Snow’s expression hardens. “Answer the question, my mushy cabbage.”

He sighs. "I'm sorry, pop snookums, but I've lost a lot of my stock within the last few months. We're nearly penniless."

Robin's smug expression slips. "What?"

Snow starts to wail in one, unbroken tone. "We're poor!"

"Don't fret, my cheesy love princess, I'll be back on the road soon. I have no doubt that I'll be able to triple my profits within a year!" Her father shouts to be heard above his new bride.

"We're poor now!" Snow starts to sob, gasping in between her howls. It's quite impressive, actually.

Robin turns on Emma. "You knew about this!" he snarls.

She raises her eyebrows. "What, that we're poor? I was aware of it."

"Why didn't you warn us?"

"I'm sorry, were we friends? I didn't realize I had to confide anything in you."

"It's...that's false advertisement!"

"Your mother didn't seem to mind when my father was wooing her. I had no say in it, I assure you."

Being at home is almost unbearable. Snow spends her days alternating between crying and ordering Gold to whip up insane desserts. Robin wanders around the house, poking at the sparse furnishings and muttering under his breath. She’s pretty sure he’s secretly pawning items off, but she can’t prove it. Her father locks himself away to prepare for his latest journey.

"Father, may I please accompany you?" she asks one day. "Anything would be better than staying here."

"No, but I'm glad you feel that way. You and Robin are going to boarding school together soon after I leave."

"I...what?"

"Yes, I just sent off the necessary paperwork. You're lucky they had room for the two of you with such last-minute notice."

"Why?"

He pauses in shuffling his papers and stares at her. "Honestly, Emma, you're getting to the age where you can't spend all your days with the help. You need to be educated, to be well-versed in embroidery and dance or no man will want you."

"That's fine with me."

"Don't take that tone with me, young lady. Go upstairs and pack. You and Robin leave next week."

When her father leaves, he has to pry Snow's arms from around his neck. "Of course I'll miss you, my happy honey twinkle. But I must go forth to find my fortune in far-off lands. But rest assured I will think of you with my every breath. Such is the nature of our blessing." He squints into the sunrise majestically before mounting his horse. "Farewell, my love. Look after the children."

She sobs nonstop for a week, so she's in bed with a bad head cold when the carriage comes round to pick Emma and Robin up. Gold lugs Robin's huge trunk downstairs and gives him an awkward pat on the shoulder. He hugs Emma and whispers, "Try your best to be good, alright?"

She grins. "I make no promises. Trouble tends to find me."

Robin spends the whole ride going through her belongings, not that she has a lot for him to pilfer. But he seems to catch on to the curse when he tells her to pick up a dustbunny in the corner.

"No."

"Well I'm certainly not going to dirty my fingers with that filth. I just cleaned under my nails."

"So what?"

"So you do it."

She grinds her teeth to stave off the shivers. "You get rid of it if you're so bothered by its presence."

“I said do it.”

"I don't want to."

He's eyeing her with too much interest. "Emma. Get rid of it."

She feels a headache coming on. “Fine,” she grits out and grinds it into his face.

But he grins the rest of the ride.

...

“Welcome to The Royal Academy, where we educate the next generation of Renaissance men and women!” The headmistress is cloyingly sweet, especially after Emma hands over their combined tuition in a sack of gold coins.

She gives them a short tour and then hands them both a packet of information including their class schedules and room assignments. “The semester starts in two days so I suggest you two get settled in. This floor is the sixth form dormitories. Boys to the right, girls to the left.”

“Emma, be a dear and deliver my trunk to my room,” Robin says, that infuriating grin still in place.

She wants to snap that she’s not his maid, but it wouldn’t change anything, and she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. So she drags his ridiculous trunk up the three flights to his room and drops it in his doorway while he lounges on his bed.

“You’re so helpful. I’m going to enjoy our years as schoolmates very much.”

“Go bile yer heid,” she growls, flashing him a rude hand gesture. As much as she wants to, she’s never been a “turn the other cheek” kind of gal.

She stomps down the opposite hallway and into her room, flopping onto her bare bed. She’s dreading spending the next few years here trapped under Robin's thumb, when a familiar voice breaks her out of her brooding. "Miss Nolan?"

She whips her head around, spotting the crown princess leaning against the doorframe. "Regina," she says, scrambling upright to drop into a curtsy.

Regina rolls her eyes. "Stop with all that formal nonsense. We're peers here."

"What are you doing here?"

She smirks. "Still a bit on the dim side despite attending one of the best secondary schools in the country, I see."

"No, I understand that we both go here. I'm asking what you're doing specifically here. In this room. Are you a prefect monitoring the dorms?"

"This is my room."

"And also mine, apparently." Emma double-checks her information, and yup, looks like she's rooming with the princess. She hands it over to Regina. "Look, we're roommates."

To her surprise, Regina's expression brightens. "So we are."

"What are you so happy about? I thought you'd be pleased to have a room to yourself. I certainly would be."

"The administration insisted on it, because the whole royalty issue, but I prefer some company, even if it’s not intellectually up to par.”

“Oi, watch as I thrash you in every one of our classes.”

Regina smirks again. "We don't share any of them, sorry to disappoint you."

"Are you not taking Beginning Ballroom Dance, Baroque Calligraphy, Modern Etiquette, Basic Accounting, Advanced Needlework, and Women's Choir this semester? I thought the course load for sixth form girls is all the same."

"It is, but my mother requested something different for me. I'm taking all my classes with the gentlemen."

Emma frowns. "Why?"

“Mother wants me to be able to rule in my own right, not trained in embroidery like the rest of the ladies and not have a clue about how to run a kingdom. She's always been adamant that one must never be subject to the whims of self-serving ministers.”

“Harsh, but reasonable, I guess.”

“Enlighten me, by all means.”

“The boys’ classes sound more interesting by far. I’m not sure what you’re taking but it’s gotta be better than spending two hours every other day working on etiquette, right?”

She smiles. “We’ll see if you change your tune once the semester starts.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robin is the worst, part 2
> 
> With a special guest appearance by the evil spoon

It’s a lot more difficult than she would’ve thought sewing and fancy writing and singing would ever be, but she’ll never tell Regina that. All her life she’s mostly been tutored by a governess and picked up bits and pieces from her mother and Gold, but that’s the extent of her education. And she’s starting to realize at what a disadvantage that puts her against the other girls.

In an odd twist of fate, it’s her curse that helps with catching her up the most. When the music mistress barks at her to sing in key, she has to obey. When the calligraphy instructor demands her to stop blotting her parchment with ink stains, she can’t help but do so. Every night she pores over textbooks and diagrams, taking notes diligently and scribbling essays on the importance of posture for the modern woman. It’s exhausting. Robin certainly doesn’t help when he corners her one morning after breakfast and starts to whine about how hard his courses are.

She shrugs. “That’s your problem. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to cram before first hour starts.”

“And what do you need to cram for, exactly?” he sneers. “Your advanced manners class?”

“Yes, actually. And you’d fail even before you’d be able to sit down so don’t you scoff at me.”

“Your subjects are all simple women’s know-how, so you should have no trouble at all with some extra work. You’ll be doing my homework for me from now on. Come by my room after school to pick up my assignments.”

She sets her jaw. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“No chance. I’ll see you then.” He saunters off.

“How am I supposed to do your homework if I don’t attend your subjects?” she calls after him.

“I’ll loan you my textbooks. And you can go to the library, I don’t know. You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Regina raises her eyebrows when Emma staggers into their room with a stack of books over two feet tall. “They’re certainly putting you through your paces. Are you supposed to be able to walk around with that monstrosity balanced on your head?”

“Ha ha. If you must know, I’ve decided to take on extra classes.”

“Whatever for?”

“Because...I’m going to prove to you that anything you can do, I can do better.”

She frowns. “That seems like a lot of extra effort for such a petty claim.”

“I’ll be the judge of that when I watch you eat your words.”

Regina smirks. “Whatever you say, dear.”

Despite her fighting words, Emma spends most of her time studying with Regina rather than competing with her. It’s rather nice, actually. They quiz each other on important historical dates and the outcomes of specific alchemical reactions. Regina uses her as a sounding board when she’s trying to outline her argument between potentiality and actuality.

After she picks up Robin’s daily assignments, she snags a table in the library and works on what she can before Regina shows up. Where Robin chose archery as an extracurricular, Regina rides after school. Emma’s too busy trying to keep afloat in all her studies to do anything else. They spend afternoons and evenings after dinner with nothing but each other’s company and the scritching of quills.

To her delight, Regina takes an instant dislike to Robin. “He spends all hour doodling on his desk and throwing spitballs. And then he has the nerve to ask to be alchemy partners even though he doesn’t have a clue what’s going on. As if I’d let a pathetic banana like that drag my marks down.”

Emma stares at her, an expression of rapt glee on her face. “Tell me more about how much he annoys you.”

“What do you have against him?”

“He’s my wet sandwich of a stepbrother. Hearing other people complain about him is cathartic.”

“Well, then…” And Regina launches into a rant about how he tried to give her a batch of moonflowers, which although beautiful and fragrant, are also poisonous. She’s not sure whether to take it as a slight or chalk it up to ignorance. And there was that one time when he tried to serenade her in the music wing, to her mortification, but ended up being beaten with oboes due to his atrocious singing voice.

One evening, Emma takes a break to stretch, several of her joints cracking pleasantly. “Why do you take so long on your homework? You could be done by now,” she says.

Regina tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear and scratches out a sentence, frowning. She doesn’t bother to look up. “I want to make sure that I touch on all the possible points and prove without a doubt that my stance is the right one.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

“Says the girl who’s taking five extra classes.”

She yawns. “Touché.”

On more than one occasion, Emma falls asleep in the middle of deriving equations or translating a document into Latin. Afterwards, she dimly remembers leaning on Regina as she coaxes her to totter back to their dorm. Somehow she always wakes up in her bed, neatly tucked in, her books and papers laid out on her desk. She’s exhausted all the time but the curse won't let her snooze in class after a professor caught her once and scolded her in front of her classmates.

...

At one point, they’re studying late into the night, Regina for an oral Latin exam, Emma for an upcoming decorum assessment, when Regina’s stomach growls vociferously. She blushes as Emma laughs.

“Let’s take a break. I don’t think my brain can tell the difference between an earl and a viscount anymore,” Emma says.

Regina opens her mouth, probably to tell her exactly what the distinction is when Emma interrupts her. “That wasn’t an invitation to show me up. Come on, let’s get a midnight snack.”

“How? Everyone’s asleep.”

“We’ll get something from the kitchens. There’s bound to be something lying around.”

They steal downstairs, tiptoeing through the halls where the adults sleep, down the entrance hall, a left at the dining hall, and through the back door of the kitchens. They try to be quiet, but the late hour and their fatigue makes them giggly. They split up, Regina rifling through the cupboards as Emma searches the stoves and ovens.

“Score!” Emma whispers. She tugs a pot of leftover sticky toffee pudding from dinner towards her. “Regina, get some spoons!”

They sit on the floor in the dark with the pot between them, taking turns dipping their spoons into the sponge cake.

“I’m sorry I made you miss dinner today,” Emma says quietly after a few minutes.

“Oh hush, you don’t make me do anything. I’m sorry you didn’t have any dinner either.”

“Who would you like as a dinner guest if you could pick anyone in the world, living or dead?”

“My dad,” Regina responds with hardly a moment’s pause. “He died when I was little. I wonder if he’d be proud of me, or if he’d be like my mother, always pushing me to be the best in everything. What about you?”

“Gold’s family, I think. I wanna pump them for embarrassing stories from his childhood.”

Regina nods. She’s heard all about Gold.

“For someone I’ve known my whole life, I know surprisingly little about him.”

“What about your perfect day? What would that be like?”

“I’d want to go see that traveling acting troupe Gold’s always going on about. See if it’s any good, or if it’s downright terrible. I might get sucked in and spend all my time crying over fictional characters like him though. Who knows. And you?”

Regina sucks on her spoon pensively. Emma tries not to stare. “I’d go riding with my sister and then spend all day cuddling with my dogs.”

“How many dogs do you have?”

“Maybe around forty? I’m not sure, we might’ve gotten new litters since I’ve been away. We’ve got a kennelmaster and everything. They’re all hunting dogs. I’ll show you my favorite if we ever meet up back home. He’s a darling.”

“You hunt?”

“Oh no. I just like riding. But my mother hunts a lot. And Zelena’s finacé, Hades, is a big hunter.”

“When are they getting married?”

“In the autumn. I’ll have graduated by then so I’m free to be her maid of honor. Maybe you’ll be able to attend?”

Emma shrugs. “I’ll probably not have graduated by then considering my work load.”

There's a bit of a companionable silence as the two continue to finish up the pudding.

“What are you most grateful for in your life?”

Emma twists her mouth. “Do I have to say family and friends? That’s what everyone says. It's so cliché.”

“Not necessarily. I want to hear whatever's on your mind.”

“Okay, well aside from that, indoor plumbing I guess.”

“Really? That’s not something I would’ve picked.”

“Going to the outhouse in the middle of winter is not something I miss.”

Regina chuckles. “True enough. I think I’m most thankful for the opportunities I’ve been given.”

Emma rolls her eyes and nudges her with an elbow. “You always have the perfect answers to appease the masses. Save it for your coronation speech.”

“It’s funny how you only see the best in me. I’m a horrid person.”

“Yeah, yeah, and I once killed a man with this thumb.”

Regina leans forward and rests her head in the crook of Emma's neck. She freezes, afraid that if she swallows or blinks or breathes, Regina will move away. She isn't sure what this is exactly but it's nice.

“Interesting thought though, if you could wake up with a new quality or ability, what would it be?” Regina leans back on her elbows anyway.

She takes a moment to find her voice. “...I want to be free.”

“Are you not free now?”

She taps her spoon against the rim of the pot. “No, not really. There’s societal standards that we have to live up to. I’m to finish schooling and then enter society and bat my eyes until some rich noble sweeps me off my feet and then I have babies and look after the children and then die. That’s what people expect of me. That’s not what I want though. I want to see the world. I want to learn foreign constellations. I want to speak several languages and immerse myself in daily life and really see how other people live. I want to be free to do what I want regardless of what other people think or say or do. Does that make any sense?”

She can only see Regina’s outline in the dark, but she sees her nod. “I understand that completely.”

“Or you know, having a photographic memory would be pretty awesome too.”

“Hey, you only get one.”

"What would yours be?"

Regina pauses. "Don't judge me, but I want to exceed people's expectations of me. My worst fear is that I'll end up making a horrible mistake and plunge the kingdom into war and famine."

"Okay, that's reasonable but also a total cop out of an answer. That's like six traits for the price of one."

She smirks. "I can't help it if I'm a better negotiator than you."

Emma elbows her good-naturedly. Regina snickers, taking care to keep her voice low.

“When was the last time you cried in front of someone?” Emma asks softly when the laughter's died down.

“I hate crying in front of people, so it must’ve been...when my dad died? But I cry by myself all the time. I always feel better afterwards. Do you cry a lot?”

“Cry as in whine? All the time. Cry as in actual snot and tears? I think the last time was when we first met.”

“Odd that I brushed you off that day and now look at us, eating pudding in the dark together.”

“You’re not so horrid. I quite like you.”

“I suppose you’re not the worst.”

“Thank you.”

In the ensuing lull, there’s something different in the air, a kind of tautness surrounding them. And Emma feels like something would’ve happened in the next few moments, but she ruins it by yawns widely, her jaw cracking. Regina yawns as well.

“Come on,” she says, standing and offering Emma a hand up. “Let’s get some sleep before tomorrow.”

...

As their first semester draws to a close, the girls have to prove their competence in Beginning Ballroom Dance if they’re to move up to the intermediate or advanced level next semester. Although Emma no longer steps on her partner's toes and she has the basics down, she’s having trouble with the more advanced moves in the waltz.

“Will you stop spinning in circles, you’re making me dizzy,” Regina snaps, running a hand through her hair as she underlines words in her textbooks.

“I need to practice if I don’t want to get held back. It would be so much easier with a lead to work with,” Emma growls back. She steps forward into a whisk, but confuses it with a chasse.

Regina stands and stalks over to her, her arms held out.

“Are you making fun of me? Because this really isn’t the—”

“No, you idiot. I’ll be your lead. Come on, then.”

Emma narrows her eyes but steps into Regina’s arms anyway. “How did you learn to lead?”

“Boys classes, remember? Now shut up. One two three. One two three. One two three. Promenade chasse. Good. One two three. One two three. Underarm turn and closed impetus. One two three. One two three. One two three. Fallaway ronde into a slip pivot. One two three. Turning rock and back to promenade chasse. Excellent.”

Regina’s commentary ebbs away until they’re just stepping together around their small room. Emma finds her attention drawn by the tiny downy hair on Regina's earlobe. Regina's hand slips from behind her shoulder to the small of her back.

“Ahem.” They flinch apart. Robin’s in the doorway, watching them with a vaguely suspicious expression on his face. “Emma, give me my diagram of Latin roots. I need to copy it before my test tomorrow.”

“Yeah. One moment.” She shuffles a few papers around on her desk and thrusts it into his hands, shoving him out of the room.

There's a tense stillness as they regard each other.

“Uh, thanks for showing me,” Emma finally mutters, rubbing her upper arm. Although she tells herself it was totally innocuous, she can feel how hot her face is.

“You’re quite welcome,” Regina says, her voice soft. “I honestly don’t think you’ll have any trouble making the cut for intermediate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive my ignorance if you're offended by how badly I portrayed the waltz. I know literally nothing about dance.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin is the worst, part 3

A few days later, Robin calls her over in between classes.

Emma shifts her bookbag higher up on her shoulder and scowls. “Make it quick. I’m gonna be late for third hour.”

“You and Regina are getting too comfortable for my liking. Tell her the next time you see her you can’t be friends anymore.”

“Are you serious? Is this about your silly infatuation with her?”

Robin juts his jaw. “Never you mind. Just do it.”

She goes through the rest of her day in a stupor. What is she going to do without Regina’s support and guidance? Will she even make it through the rest of the school year? And who does Robin think he is, dictating who Regina chooses to befriend? The thought ignites a flare of indignation in her. Curse him and his pathetic attempts to win her over.

After school, she heads to the room and shoves some of her possessions (and a few of Robin’s super fancy ruffled shirts as well) into a knapsack. If she never sees Regina again, she can’t be expected to tell her anything, can she? Occasionally, her father sends memos on where he is and what he’s up to. The latest one said that he’ll be in the next province over, attending a name ceremony. Apparently, there will be some fairies in attendance. She’ll meet him there in a week and maybe see Henry again and ask him to remove her curse. Sounds solid enough for an impromptu plan of action.

She sneaks over to the academy stables, careful to avoid confrontation of any sort and liberates a gelding named Brooks. And with grim determination, she gallops straight off the Royal Academy grounds. She doesn’t feel too guilty about the theft. After all, the semester’s worth of tuition she isn’t using could easily buy another horse for the school.

In the nearest town, she trades one of Robin’s ruffled shirts for a week’s worth of hardtack and water, another for a crude sleeping bag and a sack of (actual) honeycrisp apples for Brooks. She rides for due west for miles on end, squinting against the sun in the evening. At night, she makes camp a half-mile in from the road, hitching Brooks up to a low-hanging branch, trampling down the leaf litter, and using her rucksack as a pillow.

She reaches the border on the fifth day. There’s a village close by and she stops to fill up on water and ask for directions. The storekeeper just shakes her head and tells her to ride north until she runs into the crowd invited to the name ceremony. Sure enough, within hours, Brooks is forced to slow to a trot and then a walk as the road is packed with people heading to a noble’s mansion up ahead. The occasion itself isn’t for another day, but people are already crowding on the grounds, setting up makeshift tents and other accommodations. Emma cranes her neck but she can’t find her father or his distinctive wagon of goods. She spends the rest of the day giving Brooks a well-deserved brushing down and chatting with strangers about the likelihood of fairies being present tomorrow. What they say isn’t promising. Apparently fairies are known for being notoriously flaky. But she still has some hope as she curls up in the stables for the night.

The morning dawns promisingly, bright and only a few wispy clouds in the sky. The crowd presses into the entrance hall as Lord Stefan and Lady Briar Rose present their newborn daughter, Aurora. The nobility claps politely, the commoners cheer and murmur amongst themselves. And then in a luminous blaze, a little boy appears in their midst, brushing himself off. Emma pushes to the front of the throng to get a better look.

“Sorry I’m late. Did I miss anything important?”

Lord Stefan and his wife exchange a quick glance before inclining their heads. “We’re honored the Truest Believer could make it to Aurora’s naming ceremony.”

“Nonsense!” he says, grinning widely. “I love babies! In fact, I find this bundle of joy so delightful I will personally bless her with her very own gift, as a token of my generosity.”

“That’s very kind of you, but we wouldn’t want to impose…” Briar Rose tries, but Henry waves her off.

“No trouble at all. Now let’s see what I have in store for her.” He leans over the baby, who gurgles happily. “I, the greatest of all fairies in the realm, gift this adorable nugget with unquenchable curiosity.”

The crowd mutters amongst itself uncomfortably and one of the nobles can clearly be heard saying, “This doesn’t bode well...”

Henry turns to glare at everyone. “Silence or I’ll turn you all into squirrels!” Even in his high little boy voice, there’s something menacing layering his words. Everyone quiets.

“Well,” Stefan says finally, “The food has been set up inside. Please help yourselves as our thanks for celebrating Aurora’s naming with us.”

The hoard breaks up as people stay and mingle or meet up with friends in the dining hall. Emma manages to catch Henry as he snacks on cannoli.

“Hello, sir,” Emma says, curtsying. She isn’t sure what exactly the proper decorum is when meeting a fairy, but she figures she might as well err on the side of caution.

He nods up at her. “Greetings, young one. Would you care for some cannoli?”

“Oh no, I’m okay. I wanted to pay my respects to the fairy in attendance.”

He puffs out his tiny chest. “As you well should. I’m the greatest fairy in the realm, you know.”

“There’s no doubting your status, nor your kindness, but I worry that your...blessings have unintended side effects.”

He scowls at her. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You see, sir, you gave me the gift of obedience when I was a newborn and although it has come in handy several times, I would really like to have my free will back and not be subject to everyone else’s whims.”

“I am the most magnanimous of all fairies and you should consider yourself particularly fortunate that I bestowed such a favor upon you. From now on, you will be overjoyed whenever someone gives you direction because it means that you can indulge in your gift. Now shoo.”

Her discontent vanishes. “Oh thank you, Truest Believer. Thank you thank you thank you!”

She floats through the room until she spots her father, haggling over the price of some gilded buttons. “Good morning, Father. I'm ever so thrilled to see you again!”

“Emma? What are you doing here?”

“I ran away from boarding school because Robin was such a meddling goblin.”

“That’s a dreadful excuse. But we’ll talk later. Busy yourself while I finish up this transaction.”

“Yes Father. Of course.”

Lord Stefan and Lady Briar Rose look troubled as they stare down at the bassinet.

“I know you’re worried about the fate of your daughter, but it all depends on the angle you approach it from. Yes, she’ll get into some scrapes but hey, she’ll be very intelligent!”

Briar Rose sniffs. “There’s a fairy named Maleficent that has a grudge against our family. No doubt she’ll be downright delighted at this turn of events.”

Stefan sighs. “We were hoping to avoid the recurrence of an unfortunate incident.”

Emma squints. “Wait a second, are you Sleeping Beauty?”

Briar Rose smiles thinly. “Guilty as charged.”

“No offense, but your parents would’ve been able to skip the whole fiasco if they’d just taught you about the spinning wheel instead of destroying them all.”

They stare at her for a long moment. “I suppose you have a point…” Stefan concedes reluctantly.

She shrugs. “Just something to think about. Absolutely smashing ceremony, by the way.”

By this time, her father’s squared away some deal or other and she wanders back to him. “Did you obtain the sale?”

“Yes, not at the price I wanted, but close enough.” He sighs as he takes her in. “The Royal Academy is certainly not letting you re-enroll after you stormed out like that. I suppose I’ll have to drop you off at home.”

She flounces after him as he collects his horse and his wagon from the stablemaster. He frowns as she leads Brooks out of the stables as well. “Where did you get a horse?”

“I freed him from the school stables, dear Father.”

He snorts. “Of course you did. Don’t believe in half measures, do you? You get that from your mother.” He grumbles as he packs up his wares. “Honestly Emma, I paid for an entire year’s worth of tuition. Couldn’t you have waited until after the school year to make a point?”

She thinks of Regina and shakes her head. “Definitely not. There were fixed time constraints.”

They toddle their way back home, Emma leaping to do whatever her father bids. “Well at least they crushed the bullheadedness out of you.” He nods in approval. She beams.

When they make it back, Snow rushes out of the house and tackles him to the ground, weeping into his shirt about how long he’s been gone. Emma hands the horses over to the groom before unloading the various linens and buttons and salted meat into her father’s storage shed as he tries to calm her down.

When she goes into the kitchen to see Gold, he’s surprised to see her but hugs her anyway. “What are you doing back so early? It’s not even semester break yet.”

“I ran away because Robin found out about my secret and he told me to stop being friends with Regina and I didn’t want to do that so I found a way out of it.”

He shakes his head, but she can see his smile. “That’s my girl.”

“But enough talk, tell me what to do!”

“What?”

“Tell me what you need me to do to help you!”

“That...is not my girl. Why are you so enthusiastic about following commands now?”

“After I ran away, I met up with Father at a naming ceremony and Henry was there. I asked him to remove the curse but he said I should be happy about it. So I am! Now tell me what to do so I can fulfill my life's purpose.”

He sighs. “My darling child, you are so much more than what has happened to you, no matter what that overblown loudmouth puffball of a fairy thinks. Go back to being you. Stop blindly carrying out other people’s wishes.”

It feels like the balloon that’s been buoying her up the past few days has been punctured. She sags.

“I know you’re feeling wretched now, but trust me, it’s better to truly be happy than to have the illusion. You can’t go through life pretending to feel good just because someone tells you to.”

She nods. “I’m gonna go upstairs and lie down for a bit. I don’t feel very well.”

“That’s to be expected. Take your time, I’ll send up some soup to make you feel better for dinner, is that alright?”

She nods again. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too, dearie.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> VIVA LA SWAN QUEEN
> 
> And Graham is a dog

Everyone in the capital is abuzz with Princess Zelena’s upcoming nuptials. There are concurrent rumors abound that she’s marrying a god, a prince from across the sea, or a demon with a flaming head. The castle doors are thrown open and everyone is invited to attend. Emma hangs back as the ceremony ends and everyone else flows out of the castle, following the newlyweds waving from the chariot as they make their rounds in the city.

“Fancy seeing you here,” a familiar voice says from behind Emma, making her jump.

“Regina!” She smiles, but already her gut is churning with the effects of the curse. _Tell her you can’t be friends anymore._ “Shouldn’t you be with the wedding party up front?”

She shrugs. “It’s pretty much just a glorified parade through the city. Perfectly routine. You, on the other hand, I thought would be halfway across the world by now. Why did you run off in the middle of the day? I was worried.”

“Oh.” Her heart flutters. “There was a...family emergency at home I needed to be present for. I’m very sorry. It was very much a spur of the moment decision.”

Regina raises an eyebrow. “I see. Well, next time you decide to pack up and leave, do try to give me more advance notice.”

She nods. “Yup, I can definitely do that. You don’t need to worry about anything like that happening again.”

“Ah! I said I’d show you my favorite hunting dog if we met up at the castle. Come along.” Regina takes her hand and leads her through the grounds to the kennels.

Emma points out a nest of baby birds screaming for food. Regina tells her childhood stories of playing tag with Zelena and the routes they’d take to lose their overbearing nanny. They go through a shortcut hidden in the hedges and exit next to the stables. The dogs begin to bark the second she opens the door.

“Is that safe?” Emma squeaks as Regina begins to unlock all the individual gates.

“Of course,” she replies right before she goes down in a tangle of limbs and wagging tails. She surfaces, laughing as the dogs cover her face with kisses. “Come on Emma. It’s fine.”

Gingerly, she steps over the puppies that are sniffing at her shoes and squats next to Regina, who rolls her eyes and pushes her over. She goes down with a yelp. The dogs are on her in an instant, licking and prodding with their noses and stepping all over her.

Regina grins and pulls her arm up to sit next to her. “Don’t tell me you’ve never properly introduced yourself to a pack of dogs.”

“Can’t say that I have,” she says, breathless. What looks like a mix between a great dane and rottweiler makes herself comfortable on her lap. The dogs are all different shapes and sizes. “Are they purebred?”

“No, they used to be strays. Our hunting dogs are all mutts. They’re healthier that way, none of that inbreeding nonsense. And why limit yourself by breed? They’re all my babies, aren’t you? Yes you are!”

Emma grins through the beginnings of a killer migraine. Babytalk is not something she ever imagined the refined Regina Mills uttering.

“And this is my handsome boy, Graham,” Regina says, holding a greyhound-esque dog’s face in between her palms and kissing his nose.

“He’s very pretty,” she agrees. His coat is a lovely umber, with white paws. He has the characteristic hyper-defined waist of a racer. His ears are pinned back, his tail tucked, and he appears to be shivering. “Is he okay?”

“Don’t mind the shaking. He’s a little nervous meeting new people. But he’s a very good boy. Yes, who’s a good boy? You are! Yes you are, you sweet pup!”

She sits back on her heels. It’s starting to feel like she’s going to vomit or soil herself, perhaps both at once. “Regina, about me leaving the Royal Academy.”

“Yes?” She’s still scratching Graham’s chin, but she turns her full attention on Emma.

She licks her lips. “The truth is, I left because I...we couldn’t be friends anymore.”

“Whyever not?” And Regina’s expression is so vulnerable, so crestfallen that she throws all caution to the wind and leans forward on her hands and presses her lips against Regina’s mouth for a precious few moments. After what seems like an eternity and Regina hasn’t moved a muscle, she scrambles back against the panel gates, murmuring profuse apologies.

“Oh,” Regina says, doing a remarkable impersonation of a startled deer.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to make our relationship awkward and now I’ve made it awkward and I would totally understand if you never want to see me again with the whole violation of boundaries and everything and is there like a penalty for kissing royalty without consent? Because I’m really sorry and I would like to not be beheaded or something because of a moment of teenage emotional misinterpretation but this is completely my fault and I would understand if you wanted to do through with the beheading, or you know, death by exposure or feeding me to crocodiles or whatever the punishment is. Gold would probably be disappointed in me, after all his hard work to have me be executed but I think he might be slightly relieved too? Because now he doesn’t have to listen to me mooning over you anymore and that might—”

Regina rushes forward and pins her against the gate. “Emma, you adorable babbling idiot.”

She frowns. “Is this when you call for the guards to drag me off to the dungeon?”

“You never were the sharpest knife in the drawer.”

Their second kiss is gentle but clumsy, their mouths learning how to move together. Emma works the fingers of one hand into Regina’s shiny hair, mussing her intricate hairstyle, the other hand just brushing against her hip through her elaborate dress.

“Okay. Cool,” she says when they pause, her eyelids flickering, her forehead against Regina’s.

At that moment, the kennelmaster enters and they jump apart. “Your royal highness,” she says, surprised but still managing to curtsy.

“Um, excellent job as always, Mistress Merrigan. Keep up the good work,” Regina says briskly as she leads Emma out of the kennels, leaving the poor woman to deal with a few dozen excited dogs.

“So that clears up a few things,” Emma says as they stroll hand in hand. She can’t stop smiling her face aches a bit. But the reason why is so worth it.

“So it does. Huh, I can’t believe it all worked out.”

“Don’t tempt fate.”

“There’s a secluded little meadow up ahead if you would like to continue to um...” Regina turns red.

She kisses her on the cheek. “You’re cute when you blush.”

They spend the afternoon and most of the evening talking about nothing and kissing and holding hands, time evaporating in a hazy fog of bliss. As the sun begins to set though, Regina gets up on her side, leaning on one arm. “I wish one of us had said something sooner. We would’ve had more days together.”

Emma feels high, relaxed and goofy. “What’s wrong? Are they shipping you out for the war tomorrow morning and tonight’s the only time we’ll have?”

She grimaces. “That’s more apt than I’d like it to be.”

Emma sits up to face her. “Really?”

“I’m spending a year in Arendelle on a diplomatic mission. And I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Well, you know my address. Try to write me once in awhile.”

“Of course.” Regina tucks a strand of hair behind Emma’s ear. Her touch makes her shiver. “You’re taking this very well.”

“I don’t think it’s quite caught up to me yet. I’m still not sure that you didn’t knock me unconscious back at the kennels and this is all a very vivid hallucination.”

Regina hums in agreement. “I’d stay here with you in this meadow forever if I could but—”

Right on cue, a voice rings out in the impending darkness. “Your royal highness!”

“—it’s my curfew and you’d best be getting home yourself.”

Emma presses her lips against Regina’s forehead. “Good night. Stay safe. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Okay,” she whispers. “Good night.”

When she skips through the kitchen backdoor, Gold clucks in disapproval.

“What?”

“Your face is positively dopey. Either you’ve seen the princess again or you’ve started smoking opium.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a plant with psychoactive properties. It doesn’t grow here.”

“I suppose that answers your question then.”

He sighs. “I suppose so. For my sake though, please don’t wax poetic about her. I already know the exact shade of her eyes.”

...

She passes through the next few days in a heavenly daze. Her father is back on the road, once again wiggling out of her stepmother’s embrace in favor of new stocks of whatever the townspeople are willing to buy. Robin meanders his way home, having been kicked out of the Royal Academy for his dreadful marks once he could no longer depend on her to do his homework. Surprisingly, he does have a single four in Urban Economics of all subjects among his smattering of one’s and two’s.

One day, she wakes to Snow’s intense sobbing as she throws crystal figurines against a wall. Gold is at the entrance to the room, waiting for the barrage to stop before he starts sweeping up. Robin pushes past her. “What’s the matter, Mum?”

She points at Emma, who’s rubbing the grit out of her eyes and trying to stifle a yawn. “Her father hardly brought back enough gold coins to keep the house, let alone rebuild our fortune. We need to let half the staff go. Oh, how we will live in squalor!”

“Who are we keeping?”

“Gold, the gardener, the stable boy, a few maids. But how will we live?” she cries.

“Fret not, Mum,” Robin says, attempting to still her flailing arm as she hurls more delicate statuettes. “It’ll certainly be difficult, but we’ll make do.”

“How?” she wails, throwing herself face down onto her mattress.

“Well,” Robin says carefully, “for one, Emma will be more than happy to pick up the slack that an emptier household will accrue.”

She crosses her arms. “Emma will not do any such thing.”

Gold stops sweeping up the mess and turns to frown at Robin.

“Emma will, because I say so,” he replies, confident in his knowledge.

Her stomach sinks to her toes.

“How do you figure that?” Snow’s stopped crying, but her face is still scrunched up with tears and snot.

“Emma has to do whatever we tell her to. I’m not sure what it is exactly, but she can’t refuse an order.”

Gold cracks the dustpan.

Snow narrows her eyes. “Emma, hop on one foot.”

She isn’t prepared to resist and so she begins to bounce.

Snow’s face splits into a wide grin. “What a clever son I have! It’s certainly not a butler and a groomsman and a laundress and a handyman and several maids, but I suppose it’ll do for the time being.”

She and Gold exchange a look of dread.

And that’s how Emma becomes a servant in her own house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pro tip: If you have your first kiss surrounded by dogs, there's like a 65% chance they'll marry you.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the angst-fest

To sum the experience up, it’s demeaning and depressing as hell. The only way she gets through the first few weeks is by bashing Snow and Robin with Gold, but even that loses its appeal as the grueling 14-hour workdays take their toll. She does her best (Snow demands it of her) and the house is always clean, but even then it becomes noticeably shabbier without proper staff.

She cheers up when the first letter arrives from Regina, exactly a month from the day she left. It’s adorably awkward, as they only had a day together really, and she’s trying to strike the right balance between friendship and something more without being nauseatingly coupley like her father and Snow. The contents are pretty innocuous, Regina’s observations on the differences between home and Arendelle and how she’s having a hard time adapting to the cold. Emma tries to imagine her wrapped head to toe in fur with just the pink tip of her nose sticking out but can’t quite manage it.

Her response to Regina includes a pressed violet to remind her of home. She forgoes complaining about her predicament, it’s no use and it’ll lead to questions she can’t answer, and highlights little moments in between chores, like when she finds a stray puppy and delivers him to the royal kennels or the time Gold realizes that Robin is mildly allergic to garlic and starts to flavor every dish with just a bit for petty revenge.

Robin spends his days hunting small game with other city boys that are too well off to be apprenticed but didn’t graduate from secondary school either. Snow’s out everyday in the city with other ladies of distinction, trying to keep up her reputation. Her father sends home updates once in awhile, but it’s clear he won’t be coming home anytime soon.

Emma keeps the letters under a loose floorboard—just in case—in her new room in the attic, where Snow’s relocated her after her appointment as housemaid. At least there’s no fear of Snow or Robin barging in on her. The attic’s inhabited with spiders and neither Snow nor Robin can stand arachnids. She has plenty of room, if she had anything to fill it with other than her cot and a trunk for her scant belongings.

As autumn bleeds into winter, the attic goes from unbearably stuffy to downright frigid. She stops sleeping upstairs at all, preferring to curl up in front of the hearth, even if it gets her sooty. On the rare occasion that she gets a break, she takes out Regina’s letters and runs her fingers over the cramped, hard-pressed letters, trying not to smudge the paper with ash. Sometimes she draws strength from the words, sometimes she wonders if what they had was real or an impulsive event that will burn away like fog in the morning sun. She hopes it’s the former, it seems to cruel to base the only good thing in her life right now (besides Gold) on a false hope.

Three seasons of regular correspondence later, Regina surprises her. Unlike her other letters, this one isn’t about her disdain of mermaids or the merits of reaching Wonderland or her suspicions on the Duke of Weselton. This one is hardly a page long, but the contents leave Emma reeling.

_My dear Emma,_

_In a matter of months I’ll be returning home. I’m excited to see you in person again, but over the last several months I’ve found myself in a bit of a quandary over the state of our relationship. As eloquent as you may think I am, I’m afraid that the subject makes me so apprehensive that I decided putting my thoughts to paper would be more comprehensible than if I babbled on in person._

_Quite simply, I’ve come to believe that I love you. I’ve never been in love before, so I’m not certain if I’ve got it right, but I’m fairly sure this is the general emotion all the ballads are going on about. Although we might not have had much time together, I want to emphasize that nary a day goes by in which I don’t find myself missing you, wondering what your thoughts would be on a certain tradition or if you’d find the terrifying moose here amusing. I miss your hiccupy laugh, the feeling of your hand in mine, and—dare I say it, your charming dimwittedness. You’re the first person in a long time that’s treated me like Regina and not my title. You challenge me, you inspire me, you care enough to break me out of my snooty shell. You don’t care about the status quo. You go after what you want without any reservations. You take the worst odds and fight until you can turn it into something better. You make me want to be better in everything I do to be worthy of you._

_I’ve known that I’d fallen for you for a couple of years now, perhaps first when I looked across the table and saw that you’d fallen asleep taking notes yet again. I very much admire the drive with which you pursue what you want, letting neither gender nor exhaustion nor the constraints of time restrict you. Reminiscing about seeing you snore gently, one arm propping up your head and the other splayed across Latin conjugations still makes my heart ache with fondness. After tucking you into your own bed for what was perhaps the sixth time that year, listening to you mumble equations in your sleep, I realized that there would be very little I wouldn’t do to ensure your happiness._

_It may be too much to ask you to return my affections. I realize I am not an easy person to love. I am brusque and haughty and very often irritable. I am quick to anger and slow to forgive. I am prone to fits of melancholy. I am a glutton for joy and revelry. I am neither kind nor particularly patient. But if you will have me, I will defend your honor against any slight, I will not tell you untruths, and I shall give you everything I am._

_And even though it was mere talk at the time, I was wondering if you would deign to run away with me for a few years once I return. We’ll have all the time in the world to figure everything out on our terms while we experience what people and cultures are like outside our little corner of home. We’ll learn foreign customs and stargaze beside the smoldering embers of the campfire, we’ll kiss at the edge of the known world, we’ll probably get into quite a few spots of trouble, but there’s no one else I’d rather have accompany me as we figure how to worm our way out of it._

_But this is only my fanciful vision of the future. It’s still ultimately your decision if you’d like to fulfill it with me. I will of course respect your choice even if it’s not the one I’d like, but I hope you’ll say yes._

_Yours,_

_Regina_

Her first response is to read it through a second and then a third time. The feeling’s reminiscent of when they first kissed. What if she’s been so stressed that she’s finally had a psychotic break? Because where in real life does royalty actually fall for the shabby peasant girl? And what if she’s just in love with the idea of Emma? After all, it certainly wasn’t her idea to double her course load. This core part of what Regina loves is not Emma at all, but a factor of Robin's meddling. What of her own feelings? She’s not sure if she’s in love with the princess, but she does know that she cares very deeply for her and wants more of a chance to explore what it is they have between them.

After she’s had some time to come to terms that she is not, in fact, insane (yet anyway), her second instinct is to write a reply composed of nothing but the word yes over and over again. But then she remembers that she happens to be cursed. All the dangers that she’s had to live with her whole life, Regina will be subject to as well if she thinks only of her own happiness. And it’s not like she can explain that she’d be in danger by proxy without going into the whole curse business, which she can’t tell anyone anyway.

“Gold, I’ve done something terrible,” she says one day as she starts to wash the dishes.

“I’m not the one you should be confessing to, dearie. If you did something to Snow or Robin, I’d probably just encourage it,” he responds, dicing vegetables deftly.

“No, it’s not that. It’s about Regina.”

He pauses to point the knife in her direction. “Look, I meant it when I said no more. I get that she’s diligent and witty and her beauty rivals the sun and the stars but I _really_ don’t need to hear it anymore.”

“That’s not it. I need advice.”

He rolls his eyes. “That might be even worse.”

“Just listen, okay? So she wrote me and she’s coming back in a few months and she wants to run away together and I’m all for it but what if someone figures out about the curse like Robin did and tells me to poison her or push her off a balcony or stab her in the back or set the hem of her dress on fire or lure her into a trap or shove her into the path of an oncoming stampede of bulls? I wouldn’t be able to stop myself, not forever. What do I do?”

“Ach. You love her.”

“What? No. Maybe. I don’t know. That’s neither here nor there.”

He gives her a wry smile. “Loving someone is when you’re willing to sacrifice your happiness for theirs.”

She scowls. “That doesn’t apply to this situation. If I do go with her, she’s in danger. If I don’t, then we’re both miserable.”

“But you’re willing to give it up to make sure she’s safe.”

“So what do I do?”

“You already know what you have to do. I shan’t make the decision for you.”

“You’re no help at all.” She leaves the rest of dirty dishes for him to finish and stalks off to start on the laundry.

“You’re welcome!” he calls after her.

She filches one of Robin’s letters to the fletcher in town and retires to her attic with extra parchment. It takes her the better half of the night but she manages to forge his handwriting decently. She gathers all her willpower, gritting her teeth, and starts to write.

_My beloved Crown Princess Regina,_

_I regret to inform you that Emma no longer lives at this residence. I must say, she had quite a lark, playing with the princess’s affections, no less! She’d open your letters in the dining hall and read them aloud for our entertainment, snickering about how she had you wrapped around her pinky. I protested against this, of course, as a loyal subject, but I could not find your address to warn you of this trickery until now. She always guarded your letters jealously as she spun her web of intrigue and deceit._

_Although she fooled you into thinking that she wanted to make something of herself, actions do speak louder than words. Emma has eloped with an insanely wealthy and decrepit noble from the highlands. She’s moved into his mansion by now, probably spending her days laughing at the serfs as they slave away on her lands whilst she’s hand fed grapes by a servant and fanned by another._

_In my lowly opinion, your royal highness, you’re better without her. She was always brash and impulsive, discarding people and objects alike once something shinier caught her attention. She’s gifted at playing the part of the victim and evoking sympathy, but she’s truly a serpent at heart. Even now, she feels no remorse for toying with your feelings. She said that if another letter arrived, to send only a single dried violet so that you will know the truth, which I have dutifully enclosed._

_I pray that you shan’t brood over my unworthy stepsister. As the Crown Princess, there are doubtless multitudes of young men (and women) who are more noble, loyal, and better suited at your side, including present company. This address is suitable if you are so inclined to discuss further arrangements._

_Your most humble admirer,_

_Robin White-Nolan, Esquire_

She squints as she reads through the message. Is it believable? Has she made Robin sound like too much of a prat? Will Regina buy that she run off with some old man for his money? Hopefully, the violet will dispel any lingering disbelief. She thought she’d cry as she prints the address in Robin’s fancy, loopy hand, but she doesn’t shed a single tear all night nor in the morning when she hands the envelope to the mail courier.

The letters stop coming abruptly. Emma tells herself it’s for the best but good intentions don’t stop her heart from breaking. She throws herself into her chores, finding that the drudgery stops herself from wondering about what if’s. Gold fusses over her, but she just keeps her head down and does what she’s told. Even snippets of his mysterious past, which she used to hoard away and try to piece together, don’t interest her anymore.  

“I used to be married,” he says to break the silence one day.

She grunts as she scrubs harder at a bit of stubborn grime.

“She left me and my son for another man, for a life of adventure.”

She grunts again, but slightly more sympathetically this time.

Gold stares at the wall, lost in memory. “I tried to win her back, but she was happy and I was...am a coward. So it was just me and my son until I lost him too.”

The only sound is Emma’s violent scouring before she clears her throat. “Did you love her?”

“Very much so.”

“How’d you get over her?”

“I had to be a father. I didn’t have time to miss her.”

She snorts. “I don’t think that’s the answer for me.”

“Give it time. Being in love for the first time is always rough.”

Emma’s only response is to rub the cabinet door even more vigorously.


	8. Chapter 8

As the weeks drag on by, her foul mood only festers. She cycles between rage and self-pity constantly. Gold gives up when breaks a plate and promptly starts to wail.

“That’s it. No more of this,” he hisses, dragging her up to her attic.

“What’re you doing?” she mumbles through her tears.

“What I should’ve done a long time ago. Now go hide behind the curtain.”

“Why?”

“Do it, and quickly. I’ll explain later.”

The curtain’s nearly opaque so she’s well hidden, but can barely manage to see his outline. Once she’s concealed to Gold’s satisfaction, he raises his hands which begin to glow golden. It strikes her suddenly that Gold is probably not his real name.

“I call upon Henry, the Truest Believer!”

With a glaring burst of light, someone else pops into existence. “Well, hello there, Gold! Finally come off your high and mighty horse to ask for help from yours truly?” It’s the same prepubescent boy voice Emma’s come to associate with the fairy.

Gold snorts. “Hardly. I’ve a bet for you.”

“Oh? I _am_ very fond of wagers.”

“I challenge you to put yourself under the ‘gift of obedience’ you’re so keen on giving people for two entire weeks and see how you like it. Disguise yourself as a regular ten-year-old and find a lonely woman who wants to be a mother. If you find it unpleasant, I win and you’ll swear off big magic and stop meddling in people’s lives.”

“And if I win?”

“I’ll cede that you are the greatest fairy in the land and I’m just a bitter old man.”

“Deal! See you in a fortnight, sucker!”

With another flare, he vanishes. The attic briefly smells like a bakery. Emma manages to tangle herself in the curtain and fights to free herself.

“So what was that all about?”

“He’s getting a taste of his own medicine. And hopefully, when he’s learned his lesson, he’ll undo your ‘gift’ and you can stop pining over your princess.”

“I don’t pine,” she snaps. But she gives him a half-smile anyway. “That’s thoughtful of you. I hope it works.”

“For both of our sakes, me too.”

Two weeks on the dot, Gold and Emma head up to the attic. In the nick of time, she ducks behind the curtain. There’s a subdued little glimmer followed by piteous weeping.

“Oh, stop sniveling,” Gold barks.

“I can’t help it. It was awful. She made me go to bed when I wasn’t tired and I wasn’t allowed to play outside until I’d done all my sums and I had to clean my plate every meal, even the disgusting stewed tomatoes and she told me I wasn’t allowed to feed them to the dog.”

“Not so fun, is it?” The amount of smugness in Gold’s voice should be illegal.

“No, I never knew.”

“Then perhaps you’d consider taking your gift back, please,” Emma chimes in, ducking out from behind the curtain.

Henry cocks his head like a puppy. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“You made me obedient my whole life,” she says, opting to omit their latest meeting. No point in airing grievances now.

“Oh, forgive me, child,” he says, clasping her hands in his, which is odd hearing from what looks like a child, but she doesn’t care about the details now. Not when she’s so close.

“Please lift the enchantment,” she whispers.

He shakes his head. “You win, Gold. I won’t dabble in big magic any longer. And removing your gift would count as such. I’m so sorry.”

And before she can protest, he vanishes. She slides to the floor, appalled. Gold lets loose an impressive string of curses, insulting everything from Henry’s fashion taste to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” Gold says with a sigh, slumping next to her.

“It’s not your fault,” she says automatically. She swallows past the knot in her throat. “You tried and I do appreciate it. I’ll just have to find a way to...break it myself, I guess.”

She goes back to working herself to exhaustion, but with twice the misery. Her father will never come home out of fear of his new wife. She will never get her happy ending. Gold will never find his son. It seems melodramatic to be so despondent over a few kisses and some letters, but she can’t help it.

“Let’s go,” she says to Gold one day. “Let’s leave and find your son and become pirates on the high seas.”

“That’s the worst idea you’ve had in days. We’d be taken out by the navy before we managed to commandeer a ship.”

“Don’t you want to leave this place behind? There’s nothing here for either of us.”

He shakes his head. “I wish it were that easy. But this isn’t how it’s supposed to go.”

“Like you have any idea what our happy endings look like.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but I know for sure that yours doesn’t include being blown up by cannons.”

“Maybe it does. You don’t know me! You don’t know my life!”

“Debatable, considering I’ve been present your whole life.”

She’s mucking out the stables weeks later when she hears Robin squeal from inside. Wiping the sweat from her brow with a forearm, she’s just stepped into the back garden to wash up when Gold glances up and says, “No.”

She hoses her skin and what’s left of her threadbare boots off before she says, “No what?”

He clenches his jaw. “The queen’s having a three day masquerade ball in honor of Regina’s return from her diplomatic mission.”

“Oh.”

“All the eligible bachelors have been invited. Doubtless Queen Cora’s hoping one will catch the princess’s fancy.”

“Well...I didn’t get an invite. I don’t understand why you had to forbid me from going.”

“That would be a better excuse wouldn’t it? Don’t know why I didn’t go with that.”

She gives him a hard stare.

He sighs. “But you wouldn’t be out of place since _all_ the single ladies will be there tryin' to put a ring on it.”

“Oh. In that case…”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re only starting to get over her. The last thing you need is to go see her and have your heart broken again.”

“Gold, listen—”

“No.”

“But I—”

“Still no.”

“Gold! Please just hear me out.”

He scowls, pursing his lips.

“I know that she’ll be with someone else. There’s no other choice. But before I resign to being a maid in my own father’s household for the rest of my life, let me see her one last time. Three nights and I’ll be done. I’ll never mention her again.”

“That’s very unhealthy.”

“But it’ll make me happy. It’ll be my happy ending. And then you can go search for your son in earnest.”

He frowns. “Not much of a happy ending.”

“But it’s my choice. I’ll be content to do my chores forever if you give me this.”

“You’re getting too old for the ‘I promise I’ll never ask for anything else’ ploy.”

“Please, Gold.”

There’s a long pause.

“Fine. But you’ll have to figure out how to dodge Snow and Robin yourself.”

“That won’t be a problem. I’ll leave after they do and return home beforehand. And it’s a masquerade ball. No one will even know it’s me. What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

He shrugs. “As long as you have a plan.”

She grins.

In the coming weeks, all Robin can talk about is the damn ball. He takes a particular pleasure in holding it over Emma’s head. It takes nearly every ounce of willpower she has not to punch him in the mouth. The only factor holding her back is knowing that she’ll be there too and if he can’t go because of a split lip, she can’t sneak out either. Snow takes Robin downtown to buy the nicest of everything that they can’t afford. She’s holding onto the slight chance that he’ll marry into the Crown and save them all from inevitable poverty. Robin demands that everything must be perfect to maximize his charms for the princess. When the tailor bans the family from his shop for taking advantage of the free adjustment with purchase policy, Robin commands Emma to make alterations until the collar of his waistcoat fits just so.

On the first night, Robin and Snow clamber into the shabby family carriage in all their misleading finery and head off to the castle. Emma showers hastily, rubbing hard at the old ash under her fingernails, before running upstairs to her attic to take out one of her mother’s gowns that she’s managed to hide for all these years. It fits for the most part, the skirts are a little short, but it’ll do. She sticks a few pins in her hair and twists it into an elegant bun, the one good thing she learned from the girls’ school.

Gold tuts when she flounces downstairs, half-mask in hand.

“What?” Her voice is defensive. “It’s the best I could do.”

“Disappointing.”

“Sorry I’m not a fairy with actual magic at my disposal.”

“Which is why you have me.”

He waves his hand with a flourish, golden glitter falling in its wake. She feels weight on her earlobes and at her throat, reaching up to find small stud earrings and a simple pendant around her neck. The dress has lengthened to fit her properly and been restored to its former glory, so when she shifts the black fabric ripples and twinkles, giving the impression of a night sky. As she lifts her skirts to curtsy, she also realizes that she’s wearing jodhpurs and riding boots.

“Of course you’re riding. Did you expect your own carriage as well?”

She frowns. “No, but I thought I’d take the jenny. Don’t need tights for her.”

“You’re not riding a donkey to a ball. I’ve enchanted a mouse to become a stallion for three nights.”

“All this is small magic?”

“It counts because there’s a time limit. It all returns to its original form by midnight so your arse had best be home by then, understood?”

“Perfectly.” And then she hugs him. “Thanks for everything, Gold.”

He huffs. “It’s nothing. If it’s going to be three days of your happy ending, you’d better do it right, that’s all.”

“Whatever you say, you softie.”

“Watch it. I could change that horse back into a mouse right now.”

“No, that’s fine. I’ll go now. Thanks again!”

The valet seems utterly perplexed when she hands him the reins to a single horse, but he leads the stallion away anyway. She fastens the mask into place and takes a deep breath before stepping into the entrance hall. The throne room’s been transformed into a ballroom, full of dancing couples and chattering people and food and music.

She finds an empty table and sits, fidgeting. Snow’s a few tables down, gossiping with the other mothers who came to chaperone their teenagers. There’s Robin, trying to butt in on whoever Regina’s dancing right now but she and her partner are doing a great job of maneuvering around him. And Regina...she looks happy.

Emma feels like she's been kicked in the ribs. It's hard to breathe right. She wonders if it’s really love if she was expecting Regina to be as hurt as she is, was. It doesn’t matter anymore. She’s not here to win her back. Doubtless Regina’s already moved on. This is just closure. She’ll sit here, all dressed up and alone, and stare her fill for the next three nights and then she’ll go back to being dirty, scruffy Emma.

It sounds bleak even in her thoughts.

She’s startled out of her self-pity by a young man that bows and asks for a dance. Bewildered, she accepts. He tries to engage her in small talk, but Emma’s too busy craning her neck to keep Regina in view. She mumbles an apology when the song ends, but he seems more amused than anything, kissing her hand farewell. She’s trying to find her way back to her abandoned table when another guy requests a dance. Eventually, she gets within arm’s reach of Regina and her current partner. She spends the rest of the night dancing in circles around her, close but never touching.

On the second night, she tries the same tactic, but something’s wrong this time around. As nice as it is not having to work so hard to keep her in sight, her proximity makes Emma feel like her heart might explode in her chest. She excuses herself after the set ends, murmuring that she needs some fresh air.

She runs to an outside balcony, glancing at the clocktower. It’s only ten o’clock and she isn’t sure she’s going to be able to get through the entire night, let alone the next one. She takes in lungfuls of the cool night air, trying to trick her body into thinking that it’s not going to die. So it doesn’t help when someone bumps into her and says, “My apologies. I didn’t realize there was anyone out here.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience!

And Emma closes her eyes, because she’d know that haughty tone anywhere. It’s simultaneously the best and worst thing that could’ve happened. She wants to reach out and touch her, make sure she’s real. That she’s here and she’s safe. But that would defeat the purpose of this entire charade. So she stumbles into a low curtsy instead. “Forgive me for intruding, Re— I mean, your royal highness! I’ll take my leave now.” Her voice has jumped an octave, in part with nerves and in part because she’s sure it would give her away otherwise.

Regina leans on the balustrade and closes her eyes, leaning into the wind. Emma swallows as she watches strands of her hair skim her neck. “You’re not intruding. This area is open to the public.”

Emma shifts toward the double doors that lead back inside.

“That was a request for you to stay,” Regina says as she catches Emma’s elbow. Her hands are rough with callouses she doesn’t remember. She wonders what Regina’s been doing the past few months.

Her heart is actively trying to claw its way out of her ribcage now. “Your royal highness?”

“Please call me Regina. And you are?”

“Leia...Leia Swan.”

“Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Miss Swan.”

The ground rumbles ominously, throwing her into Regina.

“What was that?” Her voice only shakes a little bit.

“For a brief moment, we collided with an alternate universe. Nothing to worry about. Happens all the time in Arendelle for some reason.”

“Oh. I’ve never heard of that phenomenon.”

“There’s a theory that there are an infinite number of universes and every time anyone makes a decision, new universes are made that follow the paths they didn’t take. So perhaps in another universe, I call you Miss Swan quite often. Or it could be something else that someone did. There’s no way to know, really.”

She stands, as loath as she is to leave Regina’s embrace, and mirrors her stance, leaning on the guardrail. “So what is the guest of honor doing out here anyway?”

Regina grimaces. “As magnificent as the throne room is, the air circulation is atrocious even on the best of days. When it’s as packed as it is today, it’s downright stifling.” She flicks open a fan to air herself.

It’s the most inappropriate time to admire the flush in Regina’s cheeks, but Emma takes a moment to do so anyway.

“And you? Taking a break from sampling the eligible bachelors?”

“No, I...saw someone I was keen to avoid.” Emma figures she should try to stick as close to the truth as possible. The only thing worse than lying to Regina is getting caught lying to Regina by Regina.

She raises an eyebrow. “A schoolyard spat from days of old?”

She huffs. “Hardly. A friend I lost contact with. We drifted apart and now I don’t know where we stand.”

“I see.”

A long silence stretches out.

She considers edging towards the ballroom again when Regina says, “I’d seek them out, if I were you. It’s better to see these issues to their conclusion than to be left wondering. You’re under no obligation to heed my advice, of course, but I’ve found myself recently cut off from someone that I very much care about without a proper farewell _yet again_ —"

Her stomach swoops. Damn, she had promised not to do that again, hadn't she? Oops.

"—and I would’ve liked...” Regina's voice fades out.

“An explanation?”

“No, more like closure.”

Emma feels this conversation is veering into dangerous territory, but her nosy nature can’t help but pry a bit more. “You loved them.”

Regina chuckles. It sounds rueful and humorless to Emma’s ears. “Her memory haunts me. I see her gait in a girl, her distinctive pattern of freckles across another’s shoulders, the curve of her throat in you. No, Miss Swan, I still love her.”

“Oh.” She wonders how many times she can be breathless in one night before she spontaneously develops emphysema. “I’m sorry.”

Regina shakes her head. “You aren’t to blame.”

She’s struck by an urge to laugh hysterically. Instead she says, “If it makes you feel any better, her loss for giving up the crown princess.” She means to lighten the mood but instead Regina straightens and glares at her.

“Of course, that’s the only thing anyone here cares about, marrying into royalty,” she snaps. Then she sighs. “Forgive me for lashing out. I’m still feeling rather despondent.”

“Completely understandable.”

There’s a hush in conversation then, and the more it drags on, the more agitated Emma becomes. “So I gather you aren’t too excited about your mother’s attempts at matchmaking.”

Regina nods, her eyes closed. “To put it simply.”

“Look, sorry if I’m speaking out of turn but she, whoever she is, doesn’t deserve you. It sounds like she broke your heart for no reason and the loss of someone like that in your life isn’t worth mourning. I mean, don’t go and marry one of those morons in there tonight, but she was no good for you.” She can’t believe that she’s encouraging her ex to forget about her, who she’s also still in love with. Her head hurts from trying to figure it out.

Regina gives her a watery smile. “I’m trying, dear. It’s not going so well.”

“Let’s distract you then.” She grabs her hand to lead her back inside. The gesture is more familiar than she’s comfortable admitting. They spend the next two hours trying to set up different couples, infiltrating the kitchen, and spreading different rumors amongst the parents to stir them into a panicked frenzy.

At one point, when Emma’s smearing cake all over Regina’s laughing mouth, Regina sobers and holds her wrist delicately. Emma wonders if she can feel her pulse stuttering. But instead she says, “This has been the most fun I’ve had in a long time, but I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. I’m not ready for anything more than friends at this point.”

“Good,” Emma says and mashes the last of the cake on her upper lip.

On the third night, Regina forgoes the dancing altogether to seek her out. They're strolling through the moonlit gardens, arm in arm, Regina chattering on about various oddities she's encountered in Arendelle. At least, that's what Emma thinks she's talking about. She can't stop cataloguing the cadences of her voice, the warmth of her skin, the way she scrunches up her nose when she's about to sneeze. This is her last night seeing Regina ever and she'll be damned if she lets herself forget a moment of it.

"Leia?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you—are you alright?" Her forehead is creased. Emma wants to kiss it smooth.

"Yes, of course." But she realizes that she's crying. "These are tears of joy."

"Oh. Whatever for?"

"I feel very lucky to be here with you. I never thought...the princess would be so kind."

Regina looks away. "Thank you. And thank you for being so understanding. I know everyone is expecting me to find a husband tonight and it means a lot to me that you don't require anything from me."

"Just your company, if you'll share it," Emma says, her voice hitching slightly.

They walk in silence for a bit until they reach a fountain. Coins glint dully in the water.

"I've never understood why people throw coins into the fountain," Emma says. "Wishing wells, I get, but why fountains?"

Regina frowns, opening her mouth, and then snaps it shut. "I don't know. Especially with a wishing well not far from here."

"Is there? I didn't know there were any left in the capital."

"Just the one. Would you like to see it?" She smiles, but it looks pained.

"You don't seem very enthusiastic about that."

"It doesn't matter. It's just where I met—"

At that moment, Emma feels fingers scrabbling at the back of her mask. As it tears loose, she whips away and covers her face but it's too late. Regina gasps.

"EMMA?" It's Robin. It's goddamn Robin who's ruined everything.

She takes off, privately thanking Gold he insisted she wear flats tonight. She's nearly halfway through the gardens before she hears Regina's cry. "Emma! Emma, wait!"

Up the stairs. Across the landing. Down another flight. She's in the front courtyard, breathing hard. Remembering what Gold said about midnight, she unhitches another carriage's horse and clambers on, digging her heels in. She’s in no mood to be thrown off when her steed turns back into a mouse.

As she urges the mare into a faster gallop, she can hear the royal guard organizing themselves to pursue. Her gown is gradually scrubbed away like cobwebs before a broom as she rides.

She leaps off before she comes to a complete stop, tumbling in the dirt before she springs to her feet.

"Gold!" she screams, tearing into the house. "Gold, we have to go!"

"Look, if this is another one of your 'let's become traveling herb and spice merchants emphasis on the herbs' ideas, I'm telling you, we need to build up a customer base and being nomads isn't—"

"Robin unmasked me and Regina's coming and we have to go!" she yells back, tugging her rucksack from under her cot and throwing her meager possessions into it.

"Huh, in that case, good riddance to this household." She hears fabric rustling and passionate stomping. It’s probably his apron.

She rushes downstairs, seeing Gold head out back to the stables. "What are you doing?"

"We'll have to saddle up, won't we, dearie? Unless you're planning on actually running...?"

"Gold, you have magic. Can't we just poof somewhere?"

He clicks his tongue. "You know what I think about big magic."

"But this is an emergency!" she says, even as she hurries outside after him.

"Then it's an even better reason to abstain. You don't know what could happen."

Emma's just about to mount her jenny when there's a ruckus inside. The royal guard bursts out of the woods and blocks off their escape route. "Sorry, miss, but the princess has requested a meeting with the household. No one's to leave until it's done."

She scrubs at her face as she and Gold are herded back inside, hoping the extra soot will mask her features. The bewildered staff are lined up in the foyer, and she notices Robin and Snow have somehow made their way back home as well. She tries to hide behind the rotund gardener as Regina's guards search the house.

"The perimeter's secure, your royal highness."

Regina paces, her dress mud-splattered, her hair falling free of her bun. Even now, Emma can’t help but admire how lovely she looks, even though it’s the wrong time for that.

"Anyone else in the house?" Regina demands of Snow.

"No, your royal highness. This is everyone."

Emma adopts a lost and vacant stare, vainly hoping Regina will overlook her.

"Emma! Emma? What are you doing?" She drags her out of line, her expression absolutely heartbroken. "Why did you run?"

She shakes her head.

"At least tell me why you showed up in the first place."

Emma stares down at her grubby feet. "I wanted to see you one last time."

"But you're married..." Regina frowns and runs her thumb over the back of her ash-stained hand. "You're not married. That was a lie?"

Emma nods.

A tentative grin creeps over Regina's mouth. "So at least there's not a husband in the way."

And she starts to cry, because of course she does. "Don't do this, Regina. Please let me go."

Regina drops her arm, but that's not what she means and they both know it. "Why though? What did I do?"

"Nothing," she sobs. "You're perfect in every way and you deserve so much better than me."

"That's not for you to decide!"

"Please trust me on this."

"Don't tell me what to do!"

Emma seizes that outburst like a lifeline. "How am I any different from all the tutors, the courtiers, your mother? Always telling you what's best for you. We would never be happy together."

"I..." Regina falters for a moment, but her eyes soften. "Then I'd rather follow this courtship to its unfortunate end than wonder forevermore."

She hiccups, sinks to her knees. Damn this princess and her perfect declarations of love.

"Tell me the truth. Do you love me?" Regina kneels across from her.

"Say no!" Robin interrupts suddenly.

"No," she whispers, grateful for Robin's petty jealousy. She might yet worm her way out of this one.

Snow turns and slaps Robin soundly. "Say yes!" she hisses.

"Yes, I do," she croaks.

"Well, which is it?"

She presses her dry, cracked lips to the backs of the princess's hands. "Regina, I can't. Please, if you care about me at all, you'll go far far away and forget all about me."

"I will if you just tell me why."

Emma tries to tell her about the curse, that she's a threat, that Regina would never be safe. But the words stick in her throat. Her promise to her mother won't let her articulate any of it.

"Say you'll run away with me," Regina whispers.

"Okay." She wipes her sleeve across her face. It's so reminiscent of how they met that she starts to cackle. The house staff collectively takes a step back from her.

"Don't! You can't!" Robin yells, earning another slap.

"No. No, no no no no." She begins to rock back and forth.

"You'll accept!" Snow orders.

"Okay. Yes, of course. Yes, yes, yes, a hundred times over."

"Stop telling her what to do!" Gold shouts.

Emma rocks back onto her toes, say yes. She rocks forward on her knees, say no. Say yes and be happy. Say no and save her. Say yes and damn them all. Say no and be selfless. Faster and faster and faster. Her mind feels like it's trying to drill its way outside her head.

"NO!" she screams, rising to her feet. "I WON'T! I SHAN'T! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME."

Regina looks taken aback. "Okay. You don't have to if you don't want to."

Emma stomps over to Robin and kicks him square between the legs. "You don't get to tell me what to do," she says to his crumpled form. "Not anymore, bitches!" She punctuates this statement by punching Snow in the boob.

Emboldened by her recklessness, she leaps into Regina's arms and kisses her soundly. "I'll run away with you but we can't be together because I'm cursed," she murmurs breathlessly.

Silence settles over the household, broken only by Robin's groans. It takes a moment for Emma's words to sink in.

"You did it, dearie," Gold says in awe. "You broke the curse."

"What curse?" Regina asks, but Emma only laughs and kisses her again.


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zelena is a national treasure

The queen is predictably less than enthused about Emma. Apparently she's got a rampant case of baby fever and wants grandbabies as soon as possible. There's also the whole "keeping their line on the throne" issue. She tells Regina that she’ll have to choose between the commoner and the crown. Regina grips Emma's hand hard and says that she abdicates in favor of her sister. Zelena, who's apparently been listening in, whoops and slides into the throne room on her knees. "I ACCEPT!"

Regina rolls her eyes.

They spend the next few years touring neighboring kingdoms because Regina is a nerd who wants to research socio-ethnocentric tendencies in other cultures and Emma just wants to see the world. Frequent letters ensure they’re still in the loop when it comes to events back home, though.

Evidently, Robin's discovered that the perfect way to marry his love of thievery and numbers and work in his skill with archery is to rob the rich and give to the poor. This wouldn't be a problem in itself except that his first target is the castle.

"You goddamn stale biscuit!" Zelena screams down to him as his Merry Men scale the walls. "You can’t rob us, you had the hugest crush on my sister. That’s like the rules of feminism!”

"Right. Uh, move out, men!" Robin says, his neck red. They all drop and scurry into the woods. The last they've heard, he's been harassing a Prince Richard, who no one could care less about. Robin's moved on to wooing a noblewoman named Marian, and Emma's impressed that it seems to be going okay.

Her father travels far and wide, trying to pass himself off as certified by the crown itself since Emma and Regina are together. At last count, he’s wanted in seven provinces. Snow finds she has a penchant for beekeeping entirely by accident. She then proceeds to create an empire of raw, organic, cruelty-free honey. Not only does she keep the house, she hires all new servants and fancy rugs and a spends her free time collecting rare species of birds for her aviary. She and her father continue to love each other from afar.

It turns out that Gold and Regina's previous tutor, Belle, have been seeing each other for a while. They write to Emma and Regina to let them know that they're about to embark on a heroic quest of their own, to seek out Gold's son.

Emma reads the letter out loud as Regina tends to the campfire one night. "Who would've thought, the cook and the tutor, running off together."

Regina coughs. "I knew."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Uh, well, it's why I originally approached you, at your mom's funeral. I always meant to bring that up. I'd heard stories that Gold told Belle about you. You seemed like an interesting individual."

Emma mock scowls. "That's an odd way of saying the love of your life."

"Watch it. The former crown princess happens to be a hit with the ladies."

"Right, I always forget about me, myself, and I."

Regina sniffs. "Fine. So there's only you. Doesn’t change the fact that you’re an idiot."

"Yeah, but I’m your idiot." She smooches Regina's cheek loudly.

She grumbles, but expression is gentle.

Emma leans her head on her shoulder. "Now tell me I'm your happy ending."

"That's going a bit far."

"Admit it!"

"No."

"Please?"

"Mm, still no."

"You're the worst."

"You love me."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for all your feedback and kind words! I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed sharing it. Check back soon for more works as I have several plot bunnies I need to round up and wrangle onto paper.


End file.
